GANG GIRLS GIVEN DOSE OF DISCIPLINE : JAIL CAMP INMATES KEEP STRICT SCHEDULE.

Byline: Sophie Yarborough Knight-Ridder Newspapers

Shemeica promised to turn away from crime after her daughter was born.

For a while, she did.

But last summer, the 18-year-old saw a woman pull into a gas station in a shiny new Ford minivan. She and her cousin walked up to the woman, demanded her keys and drove away.

Shemeica was quickly caught and arrested. Now she'll miss her daughter's second birthday, and she almost lost custody of her child.

``They said I wasn't thinking of my baby when I committed the crime, which was true in a way,'' said the tall, soft-spoken teen, who was convicted of carjacking. ``Because if I thought, hey, I have a 1-year-old baby, I would have thought, I shouldn't even be here.

``I messed up by thinking I was still No. 1, because I didn't realize she was No. 1 now. She didn't ask to be born.''

Shemeica is spending a year incarcerated at Camp Scott in Saugus, the only probation camp in Los Angeles County exclusively for girls and young women.

Like most probation camps for felony offenders, Camp Scott has a long list of rules and regulations: no television, no music, no talking. There are a few unusual rules: No makeup, no jewelry, no perfume.

About 100 girls at a time spend an average of six months each at the camp. Their crimes range from burglary and smuggling drugs to armed robbery and conspiracy to commit murder.

The camp, on Bouquet Canyon Road just outside the Santa Clarita city limits, resembles a sleepy college campus with sprawling green lawn and lush landscape of oak, eucalyptus and pepper trees.

But it is a campus surrounded by a 15-foot-high chain-link fence and staffed by deputy probation officers. It is considered the last chance for girls before they are shipped to the California Youth Authority, the juvenile equivalent of state prison.

About 40 girls now at Juvenile Hall are on a waiting list for Camp Scott, according to the camp director, Cristina Diaz. If the numbers keep growing, officials may eventually open a second camp for girls, Diaz said.

Only 4 percent of the California Youth Authority prisoners are girls. But the National Center for Juvenile Justice reports that more girls are getting arrested and for more violent crimes.

Between 1989 and 1993, the number of arrests grew by 23 percent, double the rate for boys. For violent crimes, arrests rose 125 percent from 1985 to 1994, compared with a 67 percent increase for boys.

The punishment is getting a little tougher.

Camp Scott, which has always been a boot camp at heart, is holding an official ceremony this month to inaugurate the program. The girls recently received their new uniforms: Desert Storm camouflage pants, beige polo shirts and combat boots. The prisoners already march to meals, salute staff members and sleep in barracks.

About two-thirds of the girls in the camp are former gang members, and about 15 percent are mothers. A few are pregnant, but they must stay at the camp until about one month before giving birth.

Inmates are sent to a medical center to have their babies, then are expected back at the camp within a week. Officials try to place the newborns with the mother's family.

Each person is allowed to keep five photographs of their friends and family. All five of Shemeica's pictures are of her 1-year-old daughter, Jaquesha.

Jaquesha's father, a gang member, died in a drive-by shooting a month before she was born. Shemeica won a court battle to keep custody of the baby and takes parenting classes at camp.

The baby lives with Shemeica's mother, who gave birth to her daughter at 16.

Shemeica sees her daughter about once a month and also talks to her every few weeks on the phone.

``It kind of hurts when I hear her on the phone and she says `Mom,' because I miss her,'' said Shemeica, who was first sent to Juvenile Hall when she was 13.

Inmates who show improvement earn points toward earlier release. Some, like Shemeica, rise through the ranks to lead their platoons.

Girls who flout the rules must wear turquoise T-shirts, stand with their backs turned when the other girls file into the cafeteria and eat standing up and last. The worst offenders, those who fight or threaten other inmates, are sent into isolation in a tiny, windowless room dubbed ``The Box.''

All the girls follow a strict schedule, starting at 6 a.m. Staff members inspect to make sure the girls' combat boots are polished, their hair is pulled back in a tight bun and their fingernails are cut so they can't become weapons.

Inmates eat breakfast at 7 a.m. in total silence - as at all meals.

Classes last from 8 a.m. to 2:40 p.m., broken up by a half-hour lunch. After school, the girls perform ``the daily dozen,'' a series of sit-ups, push-ups, stretches and other drills.

Dinner is from 4:45 to 5:30 p.m. Then there is a quiet period until 7:30 p.m. for reading, writing letters and doing homework. The girls must sign out and return all pencils, which have occasionally been used as weapons.

After quiet time, the girls head for the group shower. Lights are turned off at 9 p.m. sharp.

There is no room for privacy.

Denise, a lifelong tomboy from Long Beach, never liked hanging around other girls. Now she has no choice.

The strapping, tough-talking 17-year-old is charged with assault with a deadly weapon. This is her second stint in the camp, which she was granted in lieu of a 12-year sentence in the CYA.

``I was out there like a boy, giving people problems and shooting at people,'' said Denise, who asked that her name not be used because she fears retaliation. ``I guess it was always in me, but my homeboys brought it out.''

Denise says she inherited her father's bold personality along with his violent temper and proclivity for drinking.

``When I was little, I was my father's baby,'' she said. ``But as I got older, we clashed. We were too much alike, and we just clashed.''

After she was kicked out of Wilson High and Reid Continuation School, she started living with her gang friends. She was 14.

Her boyfriend is serving time in the CYA for carjacking and kidnapping. She says they both hope to get out of gangs when they get out of jail. She's also working on her high school diploma.

``My attitude when I came in was, I'm just going to come here to do my time and go home,'' she said. ``But then I started thinking about getting a job and my GED, and then I started thinking about going into the Navy or building cars for GMC.''

Diaz, the camp director, said the rigid regimen instills discipline in the girls.

``They resist the structure, but they need it, they want it and they love it,'' Diaz said.

Many of the girls in the camp were sexually molested or battered. But Diaz doesn't treat them like victims.

``I think they can be as violent as the boys,'' Diaz added. ``Some of them have been.''

Jenni, 16, grew up in Long Beach. She seems disarmingly sweet and innocent, but she is in Camp Scott for conspiracy to commit murder.

Jenni says she's baffled by the ruthlessness of some of her fellow inmates. A girl she talked to in class told her casually that she enjoys jabbing pens in people's ears.

``They torture people just for the fun of it,'' she said. ``I never thought girls would be like that.''

She wants to go to college and become a physical therapist. When she talks about her incarceration, tears well in her eyes.

``Sometimes I sit here and I think, gosh, I can't believe I'm in here,'' she said. ``First you're out with your friends. Then the next thing you're in here and you have no freedom.''